The Knave of Diamonds eBook

He had half-apologised for his offering. “If
you think it premature, don’t wear it!”
he had said.

And she had slipped it on to her right hand and worn
it ever since.

She recalled the kindling of his tired eyes at her
action, and smiled sadly to herself. How little
she had to give him after all! And yet he was
content!

Sitting there, she raised her hand and looked closely
at the gift. It was a complete circle of diamonds.
She had never seen such a ring before. It must
have cost a fortune. She wondered if she ought
to wear it. Again memory began to crowd upon
her, strive though she would.

“Do you like diamonds?” asked a casual
voice.

Her hand fell into her lap. She sat as one watching
a scene upon a stage, rapt and listening. She
wanted to rise and move away, to break the magic spell
that bound her, to flee—­to flee—­but
she was powerless.

“No,” said the voice. “You
haven’t a passion for anything at present.
You will have soon.”

There fell a silence in her soul, a brief darkness,
then again words, no longer casual, but quick, burning,
passionate.

“I am mad—­I am mad for you, Anne!
Goddess—­queen—­woman—­you
are mine—­you are mine—­you are
mine!” And then, less fiery, less vehement,
but infinitely more compelling: “Where is
your love for me? I will swear that you loved
me once!”

The voice ceased, was lost in the wild throbbing of
her heart, and Anne’s hands clenched unconsciously.
In that moment there came to her the conviction, inexplicable
but extraordinarily vivid, that across the world Nap
Errol had called to her—­and had called in
vain.

Minutes passed. She sat as one in a trance.
Her eyes were wide and fixed. Her face was grey.

She rose at last and stood looking down into the red
depths of the fire. The coals sank together under
her eyes, and a sudden flame flared fiercely for a
moment and died. It was like the opening and the
shutting of a furnace door. A long, long shiver
went through her. She turned away....

Anne Carfax did not look in her glass again that day.
For the third time in her life she was afraid to meet
her own eyes.

And all night long her brain thrummed like a vibrating
wire to a voice that sometimes pleaded but more often
gibed. “Has the Queen no further use for
her jester?”

CHAPTER VII

THE UNINVITED GUEST

Spring came early that year, and the day fixed for
the opening of the Baronford Town Hall was brilliantly
fine and warm. Anne was staying at Baronmead
for the event. The end of February was approaching.
Lucas was decidedly better. His sleep was becoming
less broken. He suffered considerably less; and
he took a keen interest in all that passed.

On the morning before the ceremony he greeted Anne
with an eagerness that almost amounted to impatience.
“Come in! Come in! I’ve something
to show you.”